


thunderstorm cuddle puddle

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, drugzzzz, it's just weed ok, quentin doesn't like thunderstorms, quentin worships these two and it's just delightful, this is a public couch y'all are gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: The storm outside is very loud and Quentin can't sleep. He stumbles upon Margo and Eliot downstairs and they invite him into their blanket. Pleasure ensues!
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 21
Kudos: 153





	thunderstorm cuddle puddle

**Author's Note:**

> because we DESERVE THIS, DAMMIT

Quentin had never been a sound sleeper, but this was just ridiculous. He rolled over and cast an irritated eye at his bedside table, where the clock glowed an unforgiving red: 2:34 AM. Great. He sighed and shut his eyes resolutely, then flinched as lightning momentarily dazzled the night sky. An accompanying clap of thunder was fast on its heels, and despite his usual appreciation for a good rainstorm, he was already feeling so unsettled that he couldn’t imagine taking pleasure in this. Another teeth-rattling thunderclap made him sit straight up in bed, sheets pooling at his waist, as stared out the darkened window at the sudden downpour. 

Fuck this.

Despite his best efforts, his footsteps creaked loudly as he made his way down the hallway and around the stairs. He cursed himself for forgetting to put on socks; his feet were fucking freezing, but he didn’t feel like turning back now. A glass of water, or maybe something stronger, and then back up to bed -- hopefully he just needed some physical activity before his mind would let him settle. Pulling his hood forward and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he made his way down the steps and stopped short when he heard soft murmuring and laughter from the living room, followed by the telltale click of a lighter. His pulse sped up slightly as he peeked around the corner, hoping his instincts hadn’t betrayed him. Sure enough, Eliot and Margo were snuggled on the big couch, an enormous heavy blanket around their shoulders. Margo was inhaling deeply from a joint, Eliot’s long fingers brushing lazily through her curls, and Quentin felt such a sudden rush of  _ want _ his chest actually ached. They were kind to him, sure, kinder than he’d expected them to be, considering his social awkwardness and total lack of anything resembling elegance, whereas their every move screamed of nobility, but, still. He didn’t want to delude himself into mistaking pity for friendship, or anything more. And he certainly needed to stop spying on them like a pervert before friendship was completely off the table. He’d be much better off lusting after them from the privacy of his room, anyway.

Just another second, he promised himself, transfixed by the way Eliot exhaled the smoke slowly through his nose, eyes closed and head tipped back, a small smile curling his lips as Margo walked her fingers up his chest, mumbling something Quentin couldn’t hear but was apparently hilarious, as both of them began to giggle. Then Eliot’s eyes flew open and landed directly on Quentin, who froze in shame and horror, cursing his moment of voyeuristic weakness.

“I can see you, Quentin, you little creep,” Eliot intoned, no trace of ill will in his voice. “Get over here.” He crooked a finger in his direction and patted the empty space beside him, smirking.

Quentin hesitated, rocking slightly on the spot, then decided he’d probably make a bigger ass of himself by trying to beat a hasty retreat once already spotted. He walked over to the couch, hyper-aware of his ratty sweatpants and FILLORY hoodie that didn’t exactly scream chic, and gave them both small smiles without making eye contact. 

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Margo asked knowingly, giving him the small, enigmatic smile that frequently showed up in his dreams. “Not a fan of storms?”

“No, I--well, yeah, I usually don’t get great, um sleep,” he replied, eyebrows shooting up when Eliot wordlessly offered him the joint. “Uh, thanks.” He took a toke and tried to hand it back, but Eliot refused.

“Relax. Have some more. You  _ need _ it,” he told Quentin wryly. He exchanged a small, knowing smile with Margo that set Quentin’s nerves a bit on edge, but inhaled obediently and only coughed once as he released the sweet, thick smoke. “Good. Now,” Eliot continued, opening the blanket invitingly. “Get in here, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

...What?

“Get under the blanket, Q,” Margo prompted, noticing his hesitation. “We’re nice and  _ waa-arm _ .”

Quentin didn’t know what the hell was going on, but this wasn’t the time to overthink, probably. Sitting gratefully on the couch, he shuffled in closer to Eliot until the second year was satisfied, settling the blanket around his shoulders and legs and then bringing his arm around Quentin’s waist to pull him flush against his body. Quentin happily obliged, bringing his feet up from the frigid wooden floor and accidentally brushing one against Eliot’s ankle as he crossed them beneath.

Eliot jumped and yelped, giving Quentin a chagrined look. “Jesus, Coldwater, your feet are fucking freezing!”

Margo had chosen that moment to take another puff, which was a mistake; Eliot’s high-pitched exclamation made her snort with laughter, which turned into hacking coughs. Her eyes watered as she tried to clear the tickle from her throat, and Eliot whumped her on the back.

“Breathe, Bambi, I’m not losing you like this!” Eliot cried theatrically. Quentin slipped from beneath the cover to dart over to the kitchen, quickly filling a glass of water and bringing it back to the couch, where Margo accepted it gratefully. 

“You’re a doll,” she croaked at Quentin, setting it on the side table and falling back against Eliot’s shoulder dramatically, who snorted and rubbed her shoulder. “Ugh, my throat.”

Quentin had already made himself comfortable again, alarmed at how quickly he’d grown accustomed to the warmth of Eliot’s side, how loath he was to leave it. “Yeah, sorry, I forgot my socks,” he said sheepishly, and felt his heart kick up about ten notches when Eliot turned to regard him with a fond smile. Oh, he was  _ fucked _ . The feeling only increased when he felt the other man press a fond kiss onto his forehead and slide a hand into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp. He bit his lip to stop a soft moan from escaping; he hasn’t realized how desperately touch-starved he was. The rain continued to pour outside, the rhythmic patter filling his ears before settling into a steady hum, a lovely backdrop to the amazing sensation of Eliot’s fingertips gently scratching Quentin’s scalp, each scrape sending sparks through his skin. His eyes fell shut as Eliot continued, and this time he couldn’t contain a needy whine when Eliot paused. His eyes fluttering open, he turned to look at him, a flush of heat rising in his chest as the echo of the noise he’d unwittingly made seemed to reverberate around all of them. He held his breath, trying to clear the fog in his head so he could read Eliot’s expression, see if he was about to be sent away.

“You  _ like _ that, don’t you,” Eliot murmured, biting his lip as his hand started moving again and Quentin relaxed immediately, feeling boneless. The feeling fled as Eliot’s fingers suddenly curled and tightened in his hair, tugging his head back and exposing his neck to the cool air. Eliot’s eyes flicked over him with something like--like  _ hunger _ , and then he was leaning in to bite at Quentin’s neck, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

“Wha--uhh,” Quentin moaned, his cock taking immediate, albeit confused interest in the sudden turn of events. “Are you, is this, what is--” He stopped babbling abruptly as Eliot placed a finger on his mouth, giving him a rueful smile.

“Do you want to talk, or do you want me to keep going?” Eliot asked in that low, smooth voice that did things to Quentin’s blood pressure. In lieu of an answer, he opened his mouth and sucked Eliot’s finger in, reveling in the way Eliot’s eyebrows shot up, pushing his finger in deeper as Quentin caressed it with his tongue.

“Well, shit,” Margo breathed, and Eliot released a breathy laugh in agreement. Withdrawing his finger with a small pop, Eliot grinned. 

“Full of surprises, aren’t you, Q,” he mused, before leaning in, finally, until his breath washed over Quentin’s lips. And Quentin--well, he could only take so much teasing, and he was, like, 99% certain that this Was Happening, and so he surged up to close the distance between them, fisting his hands into the front of Eliot’s shirt as he licked hungrily into his mouth, heartbeat thudding in his ears. He tasted--god, he tasted just as good as he’d imagined, or more--a heady mix of the weed, and bourbon, and something deeper--sweeter, that he needed more of, or he’d die, probably. He was barely aware of Eliot’s arms settling around his waist, fingers gripping at him until he felt himself being hauled up and manhandled onto his lap, his legs falling open easily as he straddled the taller man and threw his arms around his neck as the kiss deepened. Eliot was panting into his mouth, and Quentin gasped as he felt the sudden roll of his hips, the outline of a hard cock brushing against his ass. Jesus, Eliot’s  _ cock _ . Quentin’s mouth was already watering and he hadn’t even seen it yet. Eliot broke the kiss to smile dazedly at Quentin, then at Margo, who, Quentin now saw, was watching them with a heated look, biting her lip. She caught Quentin’s eye and gave him a small smile before leaning in to kiss him, shocking a delighted moan from him, her lips softer than he thought possible, pressing his mouth open, sliding her tongue in, in, in. 

“Tastes good, doesn’t he, Bambi,” Eliot whispered hotly, caressing her cheek, her neck, then sliding a hand into her hair. He shifted his hips, bringing his other hand down to Quentin’s waist to hold him firmly in place as he thrust again, grinning when Quentin gasped into Margo’s mouth. Quentin pulled away to place a steadying hand on Eliot’s chest, trying to catch his breath.

“I need,” he began, half-overwhelmed with it, with this, this impossible reality that was somehow his, Margo and Eliot watching him with lidded eyes, mouths parted, as if he were worth looking at that way. “I need--” he tried again, snaking his fingers beneath Eliot’s shirt, desperate to feel skin, and Eliot nodded, sitting up slightly to pull his shirt off, baring his chest and then helping Margo with hers. Quentin’s eyes were pulled to Margo’s chest as she lifted her arms to pull off her shirt, her gorgeous breasts swaying with the movement, brown nipples hardened in the chill air. 

“Lovely, aren’t they?” Eliot chuckled, reaching out to palm one, rolling her nipple in his thumb. Margo arched her back and sighed happily, quirking an eyebrow at Quentin. 

“You gonna touch me or not, Coldwater?” she challenged, and god, how could anyone be this composed and this...wanton, he wondered, bringing one hand up covering her other breast with it, swallowing as he squeezed it gently, then pinched her nipple, as Eliot had done. He watched her face contort with pleasure as she let them fondle her for a few moments, and then she snapped her eyes open, all business once more.

“This is nice, but I’m wet as fuck and someone needs to do something about it,” she complained, already rolling her pants and underwear to the floor and Eliot laughed before patting Quentin’s ass twice. 

“Give me a sec, gorgeous,” he whispered, capturing Quentin’s lips in another searing kiss, before nipping his lower lip gently. “Let me attend to the lady. Take notes,” he added, and Quentin slid off his lap with only a small pout, watching as Eliot repositioned himself on the floor, spreading Margo’s legs with hands that nearly spanned the circumference of her thighs.

“Get your goddamn clothes off while he’s at it, Q,” Margo ordered with a smirk, and then in the next instant, her haughty expression was gone, mouth falling open as Eliot licked a broad stripe up her vulva, then another, then another, easily settling her thighs on his shoulders. Margo’s head fell back against the couch as she panted softly, her hands finding Eliot’s curls and holding on for dear life as he drew gentle circles around her clit with his tongue, then dipped down to lap at her cunt, spreading the slickness around her lips, into her folds, over and over again. Quentin shook himself from his stupor to obey her command, stripping down rather desperately and only sparing half a thought to whoever may come downstairs to find this sinfully erotic tableau on the couch where the Physical Kids--god help them--congregated during the day. He was too turned on to care, settling back down beside Margo to watch her stomach tighten and relax rhythmically as Eliot continued to work her open, the sounds of his tongue lapping at her folds making Quentin want to fist his needy cock. Resisting the urge, he leaned over Margo to suck a pebbled nipple into his mouth, feeling triumphant when she surged up beneath him, bucking her hips and gripping almost painfully at the back of his neck.

“Mmm,  _ good _ , Q,” he heard Eliot chuckle warmly, so he did it again, flicking his tongue against the hardened flesh a few times before switching to her other breast, stilling when she held his head in place, scraping her nails through his hair. He laved her nipple with his tongue softly, then sucked on it, not sure if the sounds she were making were for him or Eliot--hopefully a combination of the two, he decided, placing sucking kisses around the plump swell of her breast before latching back on to her nipple, scraping it gently with his teeth. He glanced over to see that Eliot’s eyes had fallen shut as his tongue worked at her clit, and then he closed his lips over the small nub, suckling softly, and Margo suddenly stiffened beneath them, a loup gasp falling from her lips.

“El, Q,  _ fuck _ , I’m-- I’m comingoh _ mygod _ \--” she bit out before muffling her cries in her palm, positively vibrating for several long moments before collapsing with a sated sigh and giggle, chest heaving as she tried to catch her. “Ah, ah,  _ ah _ ,” she gasped, squirming away suddenly with a breathless laugh, pushing Eliot’s head away from her clit, trying to squeeze her legs shut. “Jesus, give a girl a second.”

Eliot smirked unapologetically, his hair more disheveled that Quentin had ever seen it, massaging Margo’s thighs as his hot gaze shifted to Quentin, who swallowed. Eliot’s mouth and chin were gleaming with Margo’s juices, and so who could blame Quentin, really, for pulling Eliot greedily toward him for a needy open-mouthed kiss, lapping at him and moaning at the taste of her? 

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” Eliot said hoarsely under the assault, letting Quentin ravage him, before pulling away to finally join the other two in the naked party. “What do you want, Q?” he murmured into another searing kiss, once his clothes were piled in an uncharacteristic heap on the ground. “Tell me.”

Quentin wanted--he wanted all of Eliot, everything, everything he had to give.  _ Alright, slow down, Quentin. _ He slid a hand down Eliot’s chest, carding through the hair there, before continuing past his stomach, curling around his incredible cock. Eliot’s sudden hiss dissolved into a breathless giggle, eyes falling shut as he pushed into Quentin’s hand. 

“That works,” he breathed, and Quentin tugged on him slowly, loving the way he filled his hand, so soft and blazing hot, but it wasn’t enough. His mouth was watering again, jaw aching, and he shoved at Eliot’s chest until the taller man got the hint and sat heavily on the couch, watching curiously as Quentin took his turn sliding the floor and parting Eliot’s legs, looking at him with a shy smile. 

“ _ God _ , Quentin, you’re so--” Eliot moaned, knuckles whitening as his hands clenched the couch cushions, breathing deeply while Quentin nuzzled at his thighs, drew his nose along the v of his pelvis. “So you’re gonna suck me, huh?”

“Can I?” Quentin cursed the quiver in his voice, feeling like he might explode from how badly he needed to fill his mouth with this gorgeous man’s dick. He opened his mouth, wide, to bite at the meat of Eliot’s inner thigh, ravenous. “ _ Please _ ,” he moaned, placing another bite, then a kiss, noting with delight how Eliot’s cock jerked with each ministration, as if trying to climb into his mouth.

Eliot spread his legs wider, reaching down to grab a handful of Quentin’s hair, pulling roughly and laughing breathlessly when Quentin shuddered, fingers twitching reflexively on Eliot’s thighs. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice wrecked. “Do it, Q.”

With a grateful moan, Quentin slurped down as much of Eliot’s dick as he could fit into his mouth, every nerve lit up with pleasure at the delicious burn of Eliot’s fingers tugging at his scalp, the hot length that rested on his tongue, the deep, earthy smell of Eliot overwhelming his senses. What he lacked in finesse he made up for in enthusiasm, gripping what he couldn’t fit into his mouth with one hand and jacking him as he sucked at the head, pulling off to flick his tongue at the tip before swallowing him down again. He heard soft noises above him, guessing that Margo had pulled Eliot into a kiss, and he thrilled anew at the sheer hotness of it, that he’d been inducted into this sacred place, bringing pleasure to the two people he fell in love with basically the moment he met them. Buoyed by the sudden swell of emotion, Quentin took Eliot in even deeper, relaxing his throat as he swallowed him down, gratified to hear Eliot let out something suspiciously close to a sob, before the hand in his hair tightened just past the wrong side of painful, and Quentin pulled off dazedly, his eyes half lidded, vaguely aware that he was drooling and too blissed out to care.

“Fucking  _ fuck _ , Q,” Eliot moaned, snapping his eyes shut as if the sight of him was too much to bear. Margo was watching them dreamily, one hand moving steadily beneath her legs, the other carding through Eliot’s chest hair. “ _ Please _ tell me that fucking you is on the menu.”

Quentin gripped the base of his cock and nodded tightly, biting his lip. “Yes. Absolutely.” 

Eliot sighed happily, brushing two fingers over Quentin’s lips, watching them part and Quentin take them in, coating them with a mixture of saliva and his own precum. He pulled Quentin back up to straddle him once more, adjusting their positions until Quentin braced himself over Eliot, gazing down at him with such naked want that Eliot’s heart clenched. 

“You ready?” he asked softly, and Quentin nodded, mouth falling open as the tip of Eliot’s finger rubbed at his hole a few times before breaching it and pushing in, slowly, slowly. Eliot stilled, letting Quentin adjust, swallowing when Quentin whined softly, rocking his hips down, needing more. 

“Keep going, El,” Margo breathed, carding a hand through his curls, and Eliot complied immediately, pulling out before pushing two fingers in, pumping them in and out as Quentin shook and panted over him, a gorgeous red flush rising from his chest, flooding his neck, his cheeks. “He loves it, look at him.”

“Fuck, he does,” Eliot said thickly, scissoring his fingers slowly, and Quentin knew, he knew he should probably object to them talking about him rather than  _ to _ him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; he felt so...so cherished, and taken care of, and he needed more, now. Gripping Eliot’s shoulders, he rode his fingers hungrily, relishing the stretch, the burn, feeling totally helpless to his desire.

“Come on,” he moaned, opening his eyes, pleading silently. “Come on, give me more.”

“Be patient, baby,” Eliot whispered, crooking a third finger in, smiling when Quentin gasped, teeth gleaming in the semi-darkness of the room. “Good?” 

“Yeah,” Quentin breathed, unable to stop moving his hips, feeling lit up from the inside out. Eliot’s fingers were fan _ tas _ tic, stellar, gold fucking star. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever be able to watch him cast in public again, not after this. “I’m ready, El,” he groaned. “Please.”

Eliot slowly withdrew his hand, mumbling something under his breath until his palm filled with oil, which he used to slick his cock. Before he could adjust their position, Quentin had aligned himself above Eliot’s cock, grasping the base and sliding down, releasing a shaky moan as he seated himself, feeling impossibly full as his thick length was buried to the hilt. 

“Ah-HH!  _ Ahfuck _ \--Quentin, dontmovedontmove, JESUS,” El gasped, caught completely off guard by Quentin’s impatience, screwing his eyes shut as he grasped at Quentin’s hips, holding him still. A beat passed, and he relaxed somewhat, huffing a disbelieving laugh as he opened his eyes.

“What am I going to do with you, Q,” Eliot quipped, rolling his hips upward languidly, chuckling when Quentin’s eyes rolled back in his head, hands scrabbling at Eliot’s shoulders. “Hm? This is what you wanted, right?” He fucked into him again, setting up a slow, steady rhythm, loving how Quentin just fell apart, moaning brokenly, unable to even form words. “Look at him, Bambi,” Eliot sighed, relishing Quentin’s tight heat that drew him deeper in, the miles of smooth skin that undulated on top of him, the way his hair fell into his face as he rode out his pleasure. 

Margo sat up to place soft kisses on Quentin’s neck and chest, flicking her tongue over a nipple, smiling when he keened, pulling him into a kiss, licking into his slackened mouth. Pulling away, she licked her lips, then resettled to join Eliot on the couch, sucking a kiss into his neck too, before licking a stripe up his ear. 

“You’re fucking him so good,” she breathed, and Eliot whimpered, his thrusts picking up speed, and Margo smirked triumphantly. “How does it feel?”

“So good, Bambi, so good.” Eliot’s voice was growing hoarse, and he clutched Quentin closer, one hand coming up to cradle his jaw as he pulled him into a bruising kiss that tapered off into desperate breaths and flicking tongues as Eliot fucked up into him at a punishing pace. 

“ _ El _ , oh my god,” Quentin gasped, and Margo slipped her hand between their bodies to grasp at his leaking cock, clamping her other hand over his mouth as he released a long, guttural moan. 

“Don’t bring the whole house down here,” she chastised gently, pulling on him with long, sure strokes, and watched as his eyes slammed shut and his spine stiffened, coaxing out spurt after spurt of hot come as his orgasm rocketed through him, keening against her palm. 

Beneath him, Eliot’s mouth fell open as he chased his own release over the edge, hips stuttering upwards as he came deep inside Quentin, biting his lip and not quite muffling the moan that climbed its way out of his throat, clutching Quentin to him in a tight embrace, huffing breaths against his shoulder.

“Jesus, you two,” Margo said tightly, lying back and massaging her clit with vigor, fucking herself with two fingers, breath catching. Eliot could barely move in his post-orgasm stupor, but gamely squeezed a nipple, drawing a breathless laugh from her. 

“Don’t strain yourself, now,” she snorted, pressing her palm against her mons before flicking the tips of her fingers against her clit again, tensing. “ _ Shit-- _ ” she wheezed, and dipped her fingers back into her pussy, crooking them just so, gasping a laugh when a small stream squirted out, then another, then another. “Fuuu _ uuck _ .”

“Wow,” Quentin breathed, who’d turned his head to watch her come, eyes zeroed in on her dripping cunt. “Holy shit.”

“She’s incredible,” Eliot agreed dreamily. “You should taste her.”

Spent, Margo, flopped back against the couch, chuckling at the boys’ twin expressions of awe, before feeding Quentin her coated fingers at Eliot’s suggestion. “Be a doll?” she drawled, and sighed happily as he licked them clean. 

The three of them lay there and just breathed for several long moments, listening as the storm continued outside, before a draft blew in, making them shiver. 

“Ughhhh, we have to  _ move _ ?” Eliot complained, smoothing a hand up Quentin’s back. 

“We should probably also...clean,” Quentin offered hesitantly. “Like, disinfect.”

“Let’s get it over with, I’m beat,” Margo said grumpily, standing and delivering a light kick to the boys when they hesitated. “Come on, we can cuddle upstairs when we’re done, lovebirds.”

“Ugh, FINE,” Eliot groused, and there the three of them stood, naked and covered in drying come, quickly cycling through a series of spells that cleaned and dried every wet spot, before grabbing their clothes and the blanket to head upstairs, shushing each other and giggling the entire way. 

“Mm, finally,” Eliot moaned as he collapsed into bed, beckoning for them to join him beneath the covers. Margo took her usual spot on his left while Quentin curled gratefully on his right, the littlest spoon in their utensil sandwich, sighing happily as Eliot’s arm curled around his stomach. Margo slipped a leg between Eliot’s, scratching her fingers through his chest hair, and Eliot brought her hand up for a kiss before dropping another one on the back of Quentin’s neck. It felt just surreal enough that Quentin wondered, as he drifted away from consciousness, if this would still be real in the morning. As if in response, Eliot shifted behind him, murmuring sleepily, and Quentin decided it the next morning didn’t really matter, if he could just have this moment, right here.

And then, he slept.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, ily! find me on twitter: @kuviraava


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